


Keep the Home Fires Burning

by bluebeholder



Series: Rehabilitation Via Dryer Settings [4]
Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Fire, Found Family, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Protective Chato, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 06:41:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10565766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebeholder/pseuds/bluebeholder
Summary: The Joker comes looking for Harley. Chato is not planning on letting his family get hurt again.And their odd little world burns.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is. Not a nice fic. It's a major tonal shift from the other fics in the series. If you like, you can pretend that things ended with "Custody Arrangement" and this never happened.
> 
> The non-con is not graphic. It is, however, present, and I feel like you should be warned before reading.

Chato wakes up with a start as an explosion shakes the house. He tumbles out of bed and sprints down the stairs. The lights aren’t on, and everything’s cast in a weird light. “What the fuck is going on?” he demands. 

Digger, wide awake with half-crazed eyes, is at the bottom of the steps already, still in his pastel unicorn pajamas. “Dunno, mate,” he says, staring out the window. 

“The fuck’s happening?” Waylon comes bursting up the basement stairs. 

“Got no fucking clue,” Chato says. He pushes past Digger and heads for the living room, absently calling up a small flame over his hand so he can see. “Hey, Floyd? Harley?”

There’s no answer.

“Thought I heard them leave,” Digger says. “Midnight walk for the lovebirds?”

Someone’s pounding on the front door. Waylon’s heavy footsteps thud across the floor and Chato hears him wrench the door open.

“Where the hell are Floyd and Harley?” Rick demands. Chato turns in time to see him ushering a very pale June, carrying baby James, into the living room. Katana is on their heels. Though they’re all in pajamas, Rick has a gun in his hand and Katana is holding her eponymous sword.

“We don’t have a clue,” Digger says, following them in. “Think they went for a walk.”

Waylon looms protectively over June and James. “Rick, you wanna tell us what’s happening?”

“Security breach,” Rick says rapidly, fumbling for a radio in his pocket. “Someone drove a tank through the perimeter fence—”

Gunfire rattles in the distance and June flinches. Chato bolts to the window, staring out at the street. He can see fires burning, not quite on their street, but close. Shit. “We gotta get out of here.”

“We have no extraction,” Rick says. “Waller didn’t exactly leave us a helicopter!”

“And we don’t have weapons!” Digger says.

The door bangs open and all of them whip around. Floyd staggers into the hall, blood pouring down his face from a gash over his eye. “He’s got Harley,” he gasps, clutching at his leg. 

“Who?” Rick snaps. 

“The Joker,” Floyd says. “We’ve gotta—we need to find her—”

Digger grabs Floyd and helps him into a chair, uncharacteristically concerned. “Take a sit, mate.”

“How’d you get away?” Waylon asks.

“Fuckin—got blown through a wall,” Floyd says, wincing as Digger starts cleaning off his face with a torn-off piece of pajama shirt. “Looked up and he was dragging Harley down the street…”

There’s a boom and an awful crack followed by an earsplitting whine. “Hello, hello, hello!” the Joker says, voice echoing into the house. They all freeze, listening in varying degrees of panic. “So here’s the deal, boys. I’ve got Harley right here with me. You see, I’ve been looking for her for a while now, and now we’re back together again.”

From whatever speaker the Joker is using, Chato hears a whimper and then the sound of a violent slap. He sees June flinch and clutch James closer. “I’d like,” the Joker says, booming voice disturbingly friendly, “to see some of the men my babydoll has been living with, last couple months. If you boys want to see her in one piece…you’ve got fifteen minutes to come see me. The clock starts…now!” And the speaker goes silent. 

“We gotta go after her,” Digger says, almost frantic.

“Floyd can’t,” June says, glancing at Floyd. Yeah, he looks bad: ashy-skinned, breathing hard, blood all over him. He’s not going anywhere.

Rick shakes his head. “I’ve got to get word out to Waller,” he says. “Rally whoever’s left, get whatever weapons we can.”

“We’ve got to get to Harley,” Floyd rasps.

“Digger and I’ll go,” Chato says. Everyone looks at him—he doesn’t normally speak up on tactical decisions. Tonight’s exceptional, though. “Waylon, you stay here and take care of June and Floyd. Rick, you and Katana go find some fucking backup.”

Waylon raises his eyebrows. “You sure you wanna go alone?”

“You really think Chato and I can’t handle ourselves?” Digger asks, bravado obvious. “You ain’t got no idea what we can do.”

Rick nods, decisive. “Right. That’s what we’ll do. They should already know something’s not right, question is how long it’ll be before they get here. Backup’s on the way.”

“You have thirteen minutes,” June says, staring at the clock. “Just—go.”

Chato, Digger, Katana, and Rick head out the front door. Waylon bolts it behind them: there’s no going back now. They’re out in the street by the time that the distant glow of a fire is visible, a couple streets over. There’s music playing there, and strobe lights flickering up into the sky. 

“That’s where she is,” Digger says unnecessarily. “Come on, Diablo.”

“Wait,” Rick says, “take this—” And he shoves his gun into Digger’s hand.

Digger stares at the gun, then at Floyd. “You sure about this, mate?” Katana’s lips twist in something that might be disdain, but she doesn’t protest.

“Go get Harley,” Rick says, expression hard. He turns and jogs off in the other direction, Katana running beside him, toward the gates of the compound. 

Chato and Digger take off running toward the miniature Burning Man being enacted in the background. As they go, Digger checks the magazine of the gun: “All seventeen rounds,” Chato hears him mutter, “good on ya, Ricky…”

They slow, when they get close. As they peer around the side of a burning house, Chato can see the bizarre carnival in front of them. There’s definitely a tank, looks like Army surplus, that’s been graffitied until its make is virtually unrecognizable. There’s music pouring from at least four stereos, all different tempos and kinds, clashing until Chato feels like his head is going to explode. Strobe lights are going nuts and between that and the fire it’s almost impossible to make out any good visuals or count the number of people here. And there are people: dressed in masks and costumes and carrying guns, occasionally firing them into the air, cheering and screaming and dancing. 

But what Chato immediately focuses on is the scene playing out on top of the tank. The Joker is up there, and so is Harley, on her knees in front of him. He's got his hands in her hair, and…

“Fucking shoot him,” Chato growls.

Digger shakes his head. “Can’t get a clear shot,” he says. “Floyd could, but…I might hit Harley.”

Flexing his arms a little, Chato straightens up. He takes a deep breath. This is for Harley. This is for Harley. It’s the right thing to do. “Cover me, man,” he says. 

“I’ve got seventeen shots,” Digger says grimly. “Make it quick.”

Chato steps out from behind the building, slow fires waking up beneath his skin. The latent power that’s been sleeping there for so long—that he hasn’t dared to unleash—snarls its displeasure, its rage, and he lets it roar out of him in his voice. “We’re here, Mr. J!”

The Joker turns, heedless of his state of half undress, holding Harley by the hair. She’s sobbing, clutching at her mouth with both hands, and the rage ignites into a wildfire. There’s smoke roiling off Chato’s skin as he keeps walking toward the tank. There are fires igniting in his wake, just from the heat. People are getting out of the way, screaming in fear, but the Joker just laughs. “Glad you could join the party,” he drawls, somehow audible over the raging chaos of the other noise. “Want a turn with her? I bet she’s already taken care of you, maybe you can show me a thing or two.”

He’s at the foot of the tank and the pavement is bubbling and melting under his feet. Chato meets Harley’s terrified eyes and, despite the hold that the Joker has on her, she manages a tiny nod. She has to get out of the way. “Sure,” Chato says. He pulls himself up the tank tread, up onto the turret, the metal melting white-hot under his hands, and somehow despite the searing heat rolling off his skin the Joker doesn’t move an inch.

“Nice party trick,” he hisses, weird eyes sparkling in the fire. Chato can see himself reflected there, in the twisted eyes of the Joker, and he looks like a monster.

The thing inside him, the forgotten nameless god who took him for an avatar, is begging to be let out. Chato can’t deny it much longer. “Let her go,” he says, feeling his eyes start to burn. 

The Joker yanks on Harley’s hair and she screams, trying to tear his hands away from her, but she can’t. Chato’s scared that if he stands here much longer she’ll get burned. “She’s mine,” the Joker says, “all mine, even if she pretended to be yours for a little while.”

“She doesn’t belong to anybody.” Chato clenches his fists at his side. Harley has to get away, he can’t risk burning her—

“You want her?” the Joker asks, sweet as sugar. “You want her back, Devil? Wanna burn her like you burned your wife?”

And he can’t hold back any more. The god is calling and Chato answers. He reaches out and seizes the Joker’s face in both hands and he lets go of the fire and hears the Joker scream and is satisfied. He hears Harley tumbling off the tank, Digger yelling, dragging her out of range, and thank God they’re both away because he can’t hold it in anymore and God help him he doesn’t want to—

The flames erupt from his skin and Chato hurls himself forward, dragging the Joker into a tight embrace, and the Joker is screaming and screaming until he isn’t, they’re both burning up, bodies melting in the raging heat, but the difference is that Chato will survive and the Joker won’t—

He doesn’t know how long he hangs on, how hot the fires burn. All that’s left is ash and smoke and when Chato’s fires finally die, he thinks absurdly of burned offerings and sacrifice. There’s two blackened skeletons lying at the foot of the tank. One of them is alive. The other one isn’t. 

Chato manages to sit up, after a minute. He and the Joker must have fallen off the tank at some point. He didn’t notice. His body is already coming back together. It’s not as bad as a bomb, really, not when he’s the one in control of the fire. His mouth is gonna taste like ash for a fucking week, but that’s fine. He can live with it.

Digger and Harley are thirty feet away. Digger gives Chato a hard, distressed look, continuing to rub Harley’s back as she retches and chokes on her sobs. The gun is next to hand, and Chato can see a pile of casings. There must have been shooting, then. 

He gets to his feet and crosses the still-soft asphalt, unhurt by the heat. He’s naked; there isn’t much he can do about that. “You two okay?” he rasps.

“What does it fucking look like,” Digger says. 

Harley just cries. 

Chato looks around. God. It looks like they’re standing in the middle of a war zone. Leveled, torched houses. Asphalt melted into lakes, a tank in the street with handprints melted into the metal, body after body. He counts—seventeen bodies and one charred, cracked skeleton. “Didn’t miss a shot, did you,” he says. 

Digger shakes his head. “Couldn’t afford a miss,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” Harley chokes out, looking up at both of them. There’s a bruise on the side of her face, bruises on her jaw…Chato doesn’t have more fire in him but he wishes he did.

“What for, Harley?” Digger asks, stunningly gentle, still rubbing circles on her back. 

Harley shakes her head. “He—this is all ’cause of me—”

Chato crouches down next to her. “Hey, hey, it’s not your fault,” he says. “You didn’t call him.”

She’s got her arms wrapped around herself, like she’s trying to hold herself together. “But—he was lookin’ for me…”

As gently as he can—those bruises look awful on Harley’s pale skin—Chato brushes a thumb over her cheek, wiping away the tears. “No one’s gonna blame you.” At that, Harley starts to cry again, turning to clutch at Digger’s shirt, and the two men are helpless to do anything for her. 

That’s how everyone else finds them. Rick brought the fucking backup, it seems like half an army, but there isn’t anything left to fight. There’s just Digger and Harley and Chato and dead bodies and melted asphalt and fire. 

Floyd staggers to their side, half bled out but alive, and when he gets there he collapses beside them and pulls Harley into his arms. Waylon comes charging in as if he’s expecting a fight and the second he sees them he stops and stands over them all, daring anyone to come near. Katana joins him, without her mask, sword screaming, standing guard over them all. Rick yells at any soldier who comes near, snapping out orders left and right, ordering perimeter checks and building sweeps. There’s gunfire sometimes, but none of them notice. 

June arrives, at some point—it couldn’t be safe for her to be alone, not right now, and Chato isn’t really sure if it’s safe for her to be around them. After giving James to Waylon to hold, she kneels down and starts to look Chato over for injuries, heedless of his scorched skin and still-burning bones. Chato tries to tell her that it’s not safe, not right now, that there’s a monstrous god under his skin that still wants to set things on fire. For just a second, when she snaps that she knows how that feels, he sees the Enchantress in her eyes. He lets her take care of him. 

They pull themselves together. It’s what they do, what they're good at. Floyd is hurt, but when he gets up he talks to Rick with the steadiest voice Chato has ever heard. Waylon just stands there, huge and immovable, ready to tear the next threat to pieces with his teeth. Digger stays by Harley as medics look her over, holding her hand and making bad jokes with her. June stands by, as angry as they’ve ever seen her, stern and cold at Waylon’s side, every inch the soldier her husband is. Katana never puts her sword away, never stands down, and when exactly did she become someone who was a true part of this team?

Chato just prays, putting out the fires inside him. It’s Psalm Fifty-One, the prayer he always uses, after things like this. In the language that feels right to him, the language that brings him closer to the god inside him as the words bring him closer to the God who rules him. “Ten misericordia de mí, o Dios, conforme a tu misericordia…”

It’s not surprising news, that they’re going to be taken back to Belle Reve. Not as a prison, Rick assures them: for their own safety. While they figure out the security breach that led the Joker to them. And it’s a mark of just how scared they all are, no matter how stern and strong they look, that nobody, not even Digger, protests.  
Just once, as they’re getting into the trucks that will drive them to the airfield where they’ll get on the plane to Belle Reve, Chato looks back. Everything is burning behind them, fires raging out of control, smoke billowing up. And he can’t tell which fires were set by the Joker, and which were set by him.


End file.
